For any one who has ever for a moment been pensive about the fate of Laurel while retrieving a bay leaf from a stew or a sauce.

[…] So what
did she become as she branched into prayer
to escape Apollo's too fleshlike clutch?
I ponder this as I sift the thickened stew
for the still undissolved bit of her, that forever
inedible leaf.

Richard Foerster ends "Daphne" thus after having enthralled us through the preparations of the stew

[…] I let slip
a bay leaf into the scent-swirl—
an embraising of onions in oil, crushed
garlic and thyme, some pepper
ground like a primal shower atop
the seared cubes before the last essential
alchemizing cup of wine …